Chasing Angelina
by Kerichi
Summary: As a Chaser for the Harpies, Angelina Johnson is used to chasing goals, but when the team is sold and Blaise Zabini takes over management, she feels more like a Quaffle...and one that might not mind being handled.
1. Blaise

A/N: The devil should be paying me, the way I pave the road to hell with my good intentions! This story was originally intended to be a 'how Blaise and Angelina got together' one shot, inspired by chapter 14 of the George and Alicia fic **For Bitter or for Worse** and **alix33**'s desire to know how Blaise came to be strolling out of the bedroom. And then I started writing...and wanted to show a Slytherin side to the end of DH, (quotes used were from ch 33 & 36) so now this is the first chapter of what will be a three-part story. :D Something like this has happened before, when I wrote **Paint it Black: the Portraits of Phineas Nigellus,** so to enjoy repeating history; the next chapter will be from Angelina's point of view. (and yes, the summary is a coming attractions trailer, lol, meant to lure new readers, since readers of the G/A fic already know they're together!) **_Special Thanks_ **to **Molly Coddles **for being a fab beta whose suggestions made the story 'mo bettah'!

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Everyone in Slytherin House had evacuated, but not all had gone home. One group chose to stay at the Hog's Head, waiting for news of the battle.

The barkeep, overwhelmed by the number of students waiting to Floo to their families, growled, "upstairs" when Blaise Zabini asked if there was a room to let. Taking that as a yes, Blaise led the way down the corridor and up the staircase. On the second floor, he looked into each room until he found one that was large enough. "In here," he said, throwing the door open. Pansy Parkinson was the first to enter. She headed straight for the window, pressing her face to the glass like a pug yearning for her master's return. Millicent Bulstrode followed close behind, her broad forehead creased in worry.

"Ladies first," said Jason Harper, gesturing for Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis to precede him. "Do you think we'll be safe here?" he whispered to Blaise, revealing the motive behind his uncharacteristic chivalry.

"Safer than we were at the castle." Blaise glanced over Jason's shoulder. "Where's Malcolm?"

"_Coming!" _Along with footsteps, the sound of clinking glass travelled up the stairs. Malcolm Baddock clambered onto the landing, bottles cradled in wiry arms. "I don't know about anyone else, but I need a drink!"

Blaise looked at the Butterbeer.

"I can't drink real beer yet," said Malcolm. "I'm only a fifth year."

"I'm tall," Jason said with a smile, "but I won't be of age until August."

Blaise arched an eyebrow.

Malcolm said sheepishly, "All right. I don't give a damn about rules, but if You Know Who doesn't win, I don't want the barkeep telling the _Quibbler _underage Slytherins were drinking during the battle. My father would cut off my allowance."

Jason grimaced. "Besides, we'll have enough to live down."

Their voices carried. Pansy's gasp was audible. "What do you mean _if he doesn't win_? The Dark Lord will kill Harry Potter and rule the wizarding world!"

"You hope," said Millicent.

Blaise nodded for Malcolm to go in.

Daphne and Tracey were sitting on the bed, huddled in their cloaks, blonde heads turned toward the girls facing off.

"Who wants Butterbeer?" asked Jason. He took a bottle out of Malcolm's arms and waved it.

Pansy said, "I want to know what you meant by that, Millie." Her hands were clenched into fists.

Millicent stood her ground. "What if Harry Potter lives? He has before. What will happen then to Vincent and Gregory, and your oh-so-precious Draco?"

"Potter will die and they will be rewarded for their loyalty."

"If they live." Millicent's face started to crumple. "People die in war."

"Stupid people, people who don't matter, our enemies, not the ones we love," Pansy said fervently. "Wait. You'll see." She hugged her friend and resumed her position at the window.

"Sit by us, Millie," said Daphne.

Millicent wiped her nose with her sleeve, sniffing loudly as she walked over to sit on the edge of the mattress. "Give me that Butterbeer, Harper."

"Since you asked so charmingly." Jason snagged two more bottles out of Malcolm's arms for Daphne and Tracey.

Blaise conjured four chairs. He placed one in front of the window. "If you used a spell, it would be easier to see out."

"I don't do cleaning charms." Pansy's lips twisted into a sneer. "You take charge of everything else, acting the prefect when you're not, so why don't you do it for me?"

Faces turned to Blaise, the way they had since his sixth year when Draco, occupied with an _important mission, _shirked prefect duties. Every Slytherin in need of assistance had been waved off with a curt, "I can't be bothered. Let Zabini take care of it." Consumed by his secret agenda, Draco never noticed when his schoolmates began going directly to Blaise, or that they never stopped.

If Pansy resented her boyfriend's loss of respect and influence, that was her problem. Blaise said, "If you choose to see through a glass darkly, so be it."

He and the other boys grouped their chairs to face the girls on the bed. The group sipped their Butterbeers in silence until the windowpanes reverberated with the tremors of a far off explosion.

A glance at his watch revealed that it was after midnight. The battle had started.

Tracey began crying. "I wish it was all over. I don't care who wins. I just don't want anyone to d—die!"

Daphne and Millicent consoled their friend, but the knots in Blaise's stomach tightened with every hour that passed. He kept remembering the moment when Angelina Johnson strode into the Great Hall.

_She had been a Gryffindor,__ a Quidditch Captain, and Potter's friend. How could he have thought her position with the Harpies would keep Angelina from joining the battle? _

_Blaise watched her smile at those who called her name, realising that he had convinced himself because he wanted to believe it. He did not want her to be hurt. Although they had only spoken in corridors or in the library, Blaise had admired Angelina since first year. She was strong, and carried herself proudly. _

_She was also beautiful. _

_Her__ smooth, dark skin, full lips, and ebony eyes were his ideal of beauty. The beads in her hair brought back pleasant memories of summers spent with his mother's family in Tanzania. Too shrewd to approach her openly, Blaise held himself aloof except for those times when he happened upon Angelina alone. Over the years, those moments grew more numerous; and the attraction became mutual. _

Blaise startled when the floorboards shook beneath his feet.

"Oh my gods!" screamed Pansy. "They must be tearing down the castle! _Draco! Draco!" _

_"Silencio!" _cried Millicent. Her face contorted. "You selfish bitch! Do you think you're the only person in this room who's worried about someone?"

Angelina, trapped beneath rubble, or struck down by a Death Eater's curse. Blaise couldn't stand for that to happen. "We'll go back," he said.

Jason laughed shortly. "Return to a war zone? That goes against the law of self-preservation."

Malcolm's eyes were round and scared. "Forget Dad taking my allowance. Mum will kill me if I put myself in harm's way!" He looked around wildly. "Our parents are probably coming to look for us right now!"

"Let them," said Tracey. "Mine can lock me in my room all summer, but I can't stay here. I have to know what's happening!"

Blaise stood. "Whoever wants to stay can tell our parents that we'll return as soon as we can." Before he had taken a step, Millicent said, "I'm coming with you." She rescinded the spell on Pansy. "If I see Draco, I'll tell him where you are."

Pansy shook her head. "I'm sorry we quarrelled, Millie. Don't leave me!"

Daphne said, "Come with us."

"No! I can't!"

"I'll stay with you, Pansy," said Malcolm.

Jason looked at Blaise. "Staying with her goes against the law of sanity. I'm in."

"Me too," said Tracey.

The five of them returned to the room housing the secret entrance. Behind the painting they found nothing except plaster.

"What do we do now?" said Jason.

Blaise crouched down beside the hearth to conjure a communication fire. "I've never tried this before," he said, "but Draco once told me that the Slytherin house-elf will answer the call if we're in need." He bent his head into the green flames. "Slinky!"

The house-elf materialised at his side. "Yes, young sir?"

"We want to return to Hogwarts. You can Apparate in and out of the castle—you can take us there and then bring us back."

"Is not safe."

"We're not going to fight." Blaise saw Slinky start to shake his head. "Please," he said softly.

"Please help us," said Tracey.

Jason shrugged. "We can't do it without you."

"We need you," said Daphne.

Millicent nodded. "And if you don't help us, so help me Merlin, I—"

"I will help." The elf bowed. "It is Slinky's honour to serve such fine Slytherins."

Blaise said, "Will you Apparate with us one at a time?"

Slinky chuckled. "Such is for wizards."

He held out his arms for them to take hold. In the twinkling of an eye, the group was transported from the Hog's Head to the Slytherin common room. It was deathly quiet. Apprehension jittered down Blaise's spine. "Where is everyone?"

"In the Great Hall."

Another voice, cold and mocking, echoed in the chamber. _"You have fought valiantly."_

It was Voldemort.

Daphne and Tracey screamed.

"Shut up!" Millicent yelled. "Listen!"

Voldemort the "merciful" was giving the survivors one hour. If Harry Potter did not face him within that time, every man, woman, and child within the castle would be punished.

"I said this was against the law of self-preservation. Why didn't I listen to myself? What am I, a Hufflepuff?"

Blaise put a hand on Jason's shoulder. "You're a true friend." He looked at each house-mate and the elf that had brought them there. "You all are."

Millicent scowled. "If you're thinking about telling us to go back, you can save your breath." She crossed her arms. "I'm not waiting here, either."

Blaise nodded. "Can you cast a Disillusionment Charm?"

Everyone except Jason said yes. "So I haven't practiced my spells like I should have," he said defensively. "My NEWTS aren't until next year!"

Daphne said, "I could transform you into a ferret and hold you."

"Or I could try to cast the charm for you," said Tracey.

Jason was beside Daphne in two strides. "I've always wanted to hold you," he said, "but this will be almost as good."

Her cheeks turned pink. "Really?"

Amused, Blaise said, "I hate to interrupt, but we have less than an hour to get in and out of the Hall."

"Beg pardon," said Daphne. She hurriedly cast the spell to change Jason into a ferret. "I'll call you Brownie," she said, scooping him up.

He stuck his head into the opening of her cloak.

Daphne yelped, "Ack! Your nose is cold! Stop it, Jason!"

The ferret's head emerged from the fabric.

"Flirt later," said Millicent. "We need to get invisible."

Blaise shivered as his spell took effect. He walked toward the others. "Remember that Disillusionment isn't true invisibility. If you move too quickly, you'll create a blur—and you'll be caught."

The ferret gave several loud barks.

Blaise smiled. "Yes, Jason, that would definitely go against the law of self-preservation."

Unseen fingers clutched his sleeve. Tracey said, "Are we going to stay together? How can we? It's bound to be crowded in the Hall. Should we have a place to meet?"

"The entrance," said Blaise, "It's unlikely that anyone will be hanging round the doors."

"But how will we know _when _to meet?" Tracey asked. "We can't see our watches!"

Daphne said, "Don't be a blonde stereotype. Find someone visible and look at theirs!"

"Oh. Sorry."

"Let's _go!" _Millicent's voice came from the entrance.

Blaise thanked Slinky before following Millicent down the Slytherin corridor. He bumped into her when he reached the Entry.

"Watch it," she said distractedly.

He wondered who occupied her thoughts. Was it Crabbe, or Goyle? Millicent wasn't the demonstrative type. She could have been dating both of them—or neither. Feelings weren't dependent on romantic involvement. He had never kissed Angelina, and yet, if her body lay among the dead... Blaise refused to consider the possibility. "Let's go," he whispered.

The doors to the Hall were open. Blaise was drawn to the centre of the room, where bodies lay in a row, as if they were sleeping. Although the staff had begun transporting the dead to a chamber off the hall, he could tell there had been many casualties. Students, teachers; faces he had seen in the Hall or his classes. He blinked rapidly, surprised at how deeply he regretted their deaths. _Pumzika kwa amani_, he thought in Swahili. _Rest in peace._

One body remained entirely surrounded by mourners. Each one had red hair. Blaise froze. One of the Weasley twins and his sister were missing. Which one had died?

He felt a twinge of relief when Ginny Weasley entered the hall with a girl who said over and over, "I want to go _home." _

"I know," Ginny said comfortingly, "but right now you need to see Madam Pomfrey." She led the girl to the area where the injured were being treated.

Blaise watched them pick their way through the groups of survivors, until his gaze fell on a woman who stood with her arms around the neck of her friend.

Angelina's body was shaking. Her eyes were scrunched closed; her face was wet with tears. The joy Blaise felt to see her alive and unharmed was blunted by the sudden, painful knowledge that Fred Weasley was the twin whose body lay on the floor of the Hall. Fred: the boy who took her to the Yule Ball. Fred: the boy who kissed her beneath mistletoe in the entrance hall. Fred: who Angelina had loved.

Blaise took a step toward her, and then halted. He refused to intrude upon her grief. There were no words he could say that would offer comfort anyway. He must wait.

He stood to the side of the doors, feeling like a ghost, until a hand brushed his shoulder.

"Blaise?" Daphne whispered.

"Yes."

He felt a body lean against his arm. "Millie won't leave!" Tracey breathed. "She found Draco and Gregory with the injured. Gregory's still unconscious, and Draco—Draco says Vincent is dead!"

_Are you going to eat that, Zabini? No? Then can I have it? Thanks! _

The memory of Vincent's childlike smile was poignant. Blaise said, "Let her stay."

At that same moment, a voice magnified by magic crashed through the walls.

_**Harry Potter is dead.**_

Because no one could see him, Blaise shook his head. He couldn't believe it. Harry Potter was The Boy Who Lived. "It has to be a trick to lure them out of the castle," he whispered, drawing Tracey and Daphne to the side, away from the doorway.

Professor McGonagall rushed out, followed by all those physically able to move. Her scream caused the survivors to push forward, filling the entrance and leaving the Hall nearly empty. When Angelina passed, Blaise had to fight the mad urge to stun her and carry her off to safety. Even if he didn't have friends to look after, she was flanked by Wood and Spinnet. They would curse first and ask questions later if Angelina fell.

"We're trapped," said Daphne.

"Then we wait."

Next to him, Tracey whimpered as Voldemort announced that there would be no more Houses. "This is wrong."

Blaise agreed, but he would not commit suicide by joining those cheering Longbottom's defiance.

"What should we do?" said Daphne.

Before he could tell her once more to wait, screams rent the air. The castle shook with the roar of giants...and what sounded like an approaching army.

"To the back," he urged. "We have to protect Gregory."

"And the others?" said Tracey.

"We'll protect them too."

Daphne said, "I only know one Shielding Charm."

"That's all you need." Blaise circled around Madam Pomfrey, who stood over her charges with her wand drawn. Firenze, although unable to stand, held his bow at the ready. For a second, it seemed that the centaur looked directly at the three approaching. Smiling slightly, Firenze resumed his watch.

"Don't worry. My father will come for us. You'll see," Draco muttered. He sat on the floor beside Goyle, gnawing at his thumbnail. His other hand was outstretched; held by Millicent?

Blaise kept his distance. "Stay ready," he whispered to the girls. "Stay safe."

The battle on the grounds spilled into the castle. While he and the others cast a never-ending succession of _Protego _charms, Voldemort and his Death Eaters duelled students, teachers, parents, and villagers. Wizards and witches continued to pour into the chamber, outnumbering Death Eaters and taking them out, one by one. Blaise felt no sorrow.

Then someone screamed that Harry Potter was alive, and Blaise experienced relief so great, his knees felt weak. After the pair duelled and Voldemort's body crumpled to the floor, strength returned in such a rush; he bit his lip to keep from shouting with the crowd. It was as if a terrible weight had been lifted. As a Slytherin and a pure-blood, Blaise had been prepared to survive Voldemort's rule. Now he had the chance to live life on his own terms.

In contrast to the cheers, a grim voice said, "Can we get out of here?" It was Millicent. "I'm next to Daphne. Draco's parents will see to Gregory, and people behind me are starting to wonder why no one's filling up this _empty _space."

Blaise scanned the room until he found what he was looking for: Angelina. She was among the group running towards Potter, laughing and crying. He let out the breath he'd unconsciously been holding. "Let's go."

Once they returned to Slytherin House, Daphne wrapped her arms around Jason the moment he transformed. The couple swayed, hugging each other fiercely. The top of her head barely reached his chest.

Millicent turned bloodshot eyes towards Blaise. "They were less of an odd couple when he was a ferret."

Blaise rummaged in an inner pocket to offer her a handkerchief. "I'm sorry for your loss. Vincent was—" He shrugged.

"He was special," said Tracey, shooting daggers at Blaise.

Millicent snorted. "Special to me, Gregory, and Draco, maybe. I know he was stupid." She released a shaky breath. "But Vincent was so sweet." She blew her nose. "There's no use going on about it. What we need to do is talk about what's going to happen now."

She didn't mean returning to the Hog's Head. Blaise said simply, "We live." He smiled a little. "I think we'll be surprised at how life goes on, even after events like this."

Tracey said, "But what if they don't hold NEWTS? I'll never get into the Healer program if I don't get E-level NEWTS!"

"Slytherin alumni still control the Board of Governors," said Blaise. "They'll make arrangements for exams to be held as scheduled."

Daphne pulled away from Jason. "Even if we sit our exams, will any Ministry department hire us?" Her lips turned down. "We're Slytherin."

Blaise said, "Whoever discriminates will find themselves and their department facing the Council of Magical Law."

"Yeah," said Jason. "There's loads of Slytherin solicitors and barristers."

"If you can afford one," Daphne said sharply. "Not everyone in Slytherin has a vault filled with Galleons."

"I have a vault filled with Galleons," said Blaise. "If you need a solicitor, I'll hire one."

Millicent used a cleaning spell on the handkerchief so she could wipe her eyes. "I guess you meant what you said about true friends."

Blaise held out his hand.

Instead of shaking it, Millicent placed her palm atop his and glanced sideways. Tracey smiled as she put her hand atop Millicent's. With a giggle, Daphne put her palm on top of Tracey's. She looked pointedly at Jason, who rolled his eyes. "Who invented this little bonding ritual? A Hufflepuff?" Jason laughed when Blaise slapped his other hand on his. Within seconds, they were each grinning as they jockeyed to be at the top of the pile.

Blaise never got to enjoy being "top Slytherin." Slinky appeared and placed his fingers on the back of Blaise's hand, just as the others conceded.

The group was transported back to the Hog's Head.

Jason burst into laughter. "The top Slytherin is a house-elf?"

Blaise lifted a brow. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. It's brilliant, convenient—I mean ace. Really."

The tips of Slinky's ears turned red as they thanked him. "It is a pleasure to serve _friends_."

Once the elf Disapparated they filed out of the room. Leading the way downstairs, Millicent said, "Speaking of friends, I'm not promising to be anyone's pen friend. I hate to write letters."

"Me too," said Jason, "and I'm not into group hugs, either." He turned to wink at Daphne. "I only do one on one."

She said, "I'll only kiss my boyfriend."

Tracey mimed gagging. "I can't stand that kissing cheeks stuff."

Near the bottom of the steps, Blaise said, "I would enjoy meeting my friends in Diagon Alley—and buying them lunch."

Everyone liked the idea so much; it took a moment for Malcolm's voice to register over the restaurant suggestions. "There they are! I told you they'd be back!"

While the other parents rushed forward, Blaise's mother waited for him to come to her. Regal and beautiful, she placed her hand on his cheek. "_Mwanangu," _she said. "My child. You are unharmed."

"_Salama," _he said. "I am fine." He leaned forward to kiss her cheek and answer the question he saw in her eyes. "Voldemort is truly dead."

She enfolded him in her arms, whispering, "We are free."


	2. Angelina

She couldn't eat. The house-elves had outdone themselves, conjuring a celebration feast that rivalled any other, but Angelina's plate remained untouched. Her mum and dad, chatting happily with Mrs. Spinnet, didn't notice. They were too relieved that she was alive and the war was over.

Angelina's throat tightened painfully. She had never told them Fred Weasley meant more to her than just a friend. They didn't know it felt like part of her had died with him, and what remained was a hollow shell.

_A ghost..._

The thought brought Angelina to her feet.

Her mum looked at her questioningly.

"Loo," said Angelina. It took every shred of willpower not to bolt from the Hall. She walked swiftly, smiling in reflex action when friends called to her as she passed. Once she reached the main corridor, her pounding heart controlled her pace. She ran like a madwoman.

There were chunks blasted out of the main staircase. She manoeuvred around the rubble and kept climbing. When she reached the seventh floor, Angelina dashed past paintings that exclaimed in curiosity or surprise. Only the tones of voices registered. Her mind was consumed in thought.

_Would he be there? Was it possible?_

If it was, her whole life would change. She would quit the Harpies and apply for the position Madam Hooch declared available when she announced her retirement after the battle. Quidditch coach and flying teacher would suit Angelina. Her future might not be the one she'd dreamt of, but if she returned to her quarters every evening to find Fred waiting, she'd be content.

At the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, the Fat Lady raised her painted eyebrows. "What's the hurry, Miss? If you're meeting someone, they haven't shown."

"Not yet," said Angelina. She hurried into the common room. The second the painting closed over the entrance she cried, "Fred? It's Angelina! Are you here?" Her eyes darted across the empty room, lingering on his favourite chair by the fireplace. She gasped when a ghost materialised beside her. "Sir Nicholas! You startled me!"

He looked at her with such pity, tears spilled down her cheeks. "I'm terribly sorry, my dear," he said. "Fred's gone on. They all have—the ones who fought and died so gallantly."

"No!" It was like losing Fred all over again. Angelina sank to the carpet.

The nearly-headless Gryffindor ghost hovered beside her. "Odds faith, I am ill-equipped to offer comfort. I have no handkerchief. I cannot pat your hand." His spectral fingers floated over hers. "All I can do," he said, "is to assure you that a ghostly existence is a poor substitute for life, and not something I would wish for anyone as fine and brave as young Mr. Weasley."

Deep down, she knew he was right. Ghosts were only shadows of their former selves. Loving a ghost was like loving a memory. If Fred had stayed, he wouldn't be able to hold her, or return her feelings. His company might ease temporary grief, but eventually it would lead to more bitterness and heartbreak. She would live for the moments they spent together, growing old, only to face eternal separation.

The thought made cry harder.

Angelina cried until soft arms wrapped around her. "Nick told me you were here," said Alicia. Her voice broke. "I'm so sorry. I know how much you loved Fred. I'm so very, very sorry!"

It was a strange solace to hear someone acknowledge her feelings. Her friend's tears helped Angelina feel less alone, and freed her to grieve.

-

_Four weeks later..._

Angelina sat in the conference room at the Holyhead stadium, listening to her team-mates speculating over the reason for the day's meeting. She didn't comment. She could care less if the club had been sold. If it had, there was a chance for improvement. Even the Cannons had better maintained facilities, and put up in quality hotels for matches away.

"What if Management demands we take a cut in salary since we didn't play a full season?" Jo Evans, the Harpies' Seeker, looked worriedly from one player to another. "It wasn't our fault there was a war!"

Angelina, aware that Jo supported her grandmother and two young sisters, said, "We're the best team in our league. If there's a new owner, she'd be a fool to do anything other than give each of us a bonus."

A low, husky laugh rang out. Angelina turned to see a famously beautiful witch standing in the doorway. "I am no fool," said Dalila Zabini, "so each of my players will receive a well-earned bonus." Her smile was dazzling white against mocha-coloured skin.

Behind the new owner, the coaching staff huddled together, smiling as if entranced. Angelina glanced sideways, toward team captain Gwenog Jones. The Beater was staring slack-jawed like many of the others, displaying none of her trademark aggressiveness. Angelina shrugged. Since everyone else was rendered speechless by glamour, she'd ask the question that was on all their minds. "How big a bonus?"

The stocky head coach edged past his assistants to escort Mrs. Zabini to the conference table. Coach Glamorgan said, "Unless Jones conceded her captaincy, Johnson, you're speaking out of turn."

"Enoch," Mrs. Zabini said in her softly accented voice, "I value every player's input."

"Of course, of course," said Glamorgan.

Angelina had to admire a woman who could slap a man down and make him like it. She herself lacked that ability. During her captaincy of the Gryffindor Quidditch team she had been a strong leader, but not always a popular one.

_I admire strong women._

Her recollection of Blaise Zabini's face and voice was uncomfortably vivid. Angelina watched Mrs. Zabini greet each Harpies player by name, struck by the resemblance between mother and son. Both were tall and elegant, with high cheekbones and exotic, slanted eyes.

When Mrs. Zabini reached Angelina, she said, "While I am the majority shareholder, Miss Johnson, my co-owner is the official team manager." The woman looked past Angelina. "Here he is now."

There was affection in Mrs. Zabini's tone that made Angelina uneasy. _Maybe she married husband number eight and I missed the announcement in the Daily Prophet, _she thought hopefully.

"I apologise for my tardiness. I was assisting the maintenance staff," said a voice like dark chocolate.

Angelina recognised the sinfully tempting voice. It belonged to Blaise Zabini.

She stepped to the side to allow Mrs. Zabini to move forward.

"What happened?" asked Coach Glamorgan.

"A water pipe burst on the first floor. It's repaired now, but the changing rooms were flooded and no Drying Charm can repair the damage. Extensive remodelling will have to be done."

Cheers broke out among the players.

Angelina stood stock-still, grappling with her conflicted emotions. Anger, guilt, and shame tangled together.

She was angry at herself for finding Blaise attractive and angry at him for being there. Did the poor little rich boy ask his mummy to buy the club because he was bored—or because of her? If she had been polite to him at school, that didn't mean she was willing to fulfil his juvenile fantasies now they had both left Hogwarts!

Guilt struck. A part of her had been flattered by his admiration. Even when she'd still hoped to be Fred's girlfriend; it had given Angelina a thrill to know the gorgeous Slytherin boy her friends whispered about fancied _her_.

Shame knotted her stomach over the relief she'd felt when Blaise left the school before the final battle. He wasn't the man she loved. She shouldn't have cared. The knots in her middle tightened when she remembered all the fantasies she'd had about him. The most recent had jolted her from sleep only a week ago. It had been very adult.

Angelina resumed her seat and deliberately averted her eyes from the two who held every other gaze riveted. The pair sat at the head of the conference table, weaving a verbal spell of promised improvements and financial gains for all.

Not even Angelina was immune. She hated staying in low rent hotels.

By the time journalists and photographers from several papers arrived, everyone was beaming with enthusiasm for the organisational changes. One of the photographers joked that he hadn't seen so many beautiful, smiling faces since the Miss Wizarding World pageant.

Angelina's smile hardened. "We've been promised bonuses," she told the man. "That's something to smile about."

The Quidditch Illustrated reporter turned to Blaise. "How big a bonus, Mr. Zabini?"

"That's yet to be determined," said Blaise.

"Miss Johnson would make an excellent negotiator for her team-mates," the reporter said with a grin.

Blaise looked directly at Angelina. "Do you have an exact number in mind?"

She'd forgotten how fathomless his eyes were. "Yes."

"So do I. We'll compare figures later."

His tone wasn't suggestive. Images of them ripping each other's clothes off shouldn't have sprung to mind—but they did. Damn it. Angelina nodded briskly before walking away. The pitcher of water on the side table beckoned. Her mouth was completely dry.

Nia Capel, a reserve Chaser and one of Angelina's flatmates, sidled up to her. "So what's up with you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome?"

Water went down the wrong pipe. "Bonuses!" Angelina gasped between fits of coughing.

Gwenog Jones had come over to lend her Beater skills in the aid of her team-mate. She thwacked Angelina on the back. "We could all use a hefty bonus, Johnson, so make sure you score for the team!"

Angelina hoped her dark skin concealed her flush. Gwenog tended to speak in Quidditch terms. She wasn't suggesting anything improper.

"Are you all right, Miss Johnson?" Dalila Zabini's silky voice rang with motherly concern.

Eyes watering, thoroughly embarrassed, Angelina said, "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Zabini nodded toward Blaise, smiling slightly. "I'll go reassure my son. He's very concerned about the welfare of each player."

There was a twinkle in the other woman's eyes. Angelina pretended not to see it.

At the end of the press conference, the new owners went around shaking everyone's hands. Angelina froze when Blaise Zabini clasped her fingers and slipped a note into her hand. She palmed it, waiting for the right moment to slide it into her pocket.

When her team-mates gathered around to ask how much she planned to ask for bonuses, she said, "As much as I can get."

Cheers broke out for the second time that day.

Angelina waited until she returned to her flat and shut the bedroom door to pull out Blaise's note. She unfolded the parchment and read.

**I'll ****come for you at eight o'clock. **

She read the note several times. He obviously wanted to discuss the bonus over dinner, although there was no mention of a restaurant.

Angelina crossed to the window. Her block of flats faced the water and offered a view of the magnificent white hotel perched on a hill directly across Treaddur Bay. During the press conference, Mrs. Zabini had confirmed purchasing the hotel. Would Blaise expect them to dine in his suite?

Angelina crumpled the note into a ball. If he did, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome was in for a surprise. She tossed the parchment toward the rubbish bin. It bounced off the rim. "I'm not Trelawney. I don't believe in omens," she muttered, marching over to pick up the wad of paper. She started to throw, stopped, and then tore the ball to pieces directly over the bin.

At six o'clock, she was yelling goodbyes to Nia and Kathy, who were going out for the evening. Her friends thought she was planning to take a long soak in the tub. Instead, she took a quick shower, opted to moisturise and powder her face only, and began to search through her wardrobe.

Dark blue denims paired with boots were an easy choice. Deciding on a top was the hard part. She wanted her outfit to say "I'm not trying to impress you," but at the same time, pride demanded she dress attractively.

She chose a bold print top with black and fucshia bands trimming the v-neckline. A spell changed the beads in her hair to coordinating colours.

By the time the expected knock was heard, Angelina had run a dust mop over the French oak flooring, done the washing up in the kitchen, lit a vanilla scented candle, and gathered Nia's stack of Cosmopolitan Witch magazines from the sofa and dumped them onto her flatmate's bed. She felt confident and composed—until she opened the door.

Blaise Zabini wore dress robes. Hand-tailored and perfectly fitted, the formal attire looked so good on him Angelina could only stare.

He smiled wryly. "You look lovely, but I seem to have over-dressed."

"You didn't say where we were going." Angelina had planned to deliver the line with attitude. She could barely force out a whisper.

His self-deprecating grimace made her pulse leap. "No, I didn't."

She bit her lip. "I thought we could walk to the Tandoori restaurant down the street."

Blaise reached up to unfasten his bow tie. "I'll make myself more casual and we'll be on our way."

Angelina tried to keep her expression impassive, as though watching him disrobe wasn't threatening to make her knees give out. She lifted her wrist, attempting to distract herself from lusty thoughts by checking the time.

She wasn't wearing a watch.

"I think it's a hair past a freckle," said Blaise.

Her mouth fell open. "You made a joke."

He unfastened gold cufflinks before shrugging out of his white dress shirt and using a charm to shrink discarded clothing into scraps he placed in a pocket. "Don't tell the Slytherin Alumni Association."

Stripped down to a white t-shirt and black trousers, his muscular body was as tempting as his voice. Fred was gone and Angelina hadn't been in a relationship for over a year and a half. Her fingertips twitched with the urge to discover whether Blaise's smooth skin was as firm as it looked. She dragged her eyes away, pointing toward the door. "After you," she said. "I have to engage the wards."

They walked to the Indian restaurant in silence. Angelina was glad Blaise wasn't the type to fill the air with meaningless chatter. Her first serious boyfriend had nattered on like an old woman.

"Why don't you order for us?" Blaise said after they were shown to a table for two.

"Vegetable samosas for starters," she told the server, "with tamarind chutney, and then Jalfrezi Chicken." Angelina looked at Blaise. "Have you ever tried Indian lager?"

"I'm more interested in the Omar Khayam Champagne," Blaise said. "I remember the name from Muggle Studies. I found it interesting that the man was a scientist as well as a poet." He asked the server, "Do you recommend the champagne or the lager?"

"The champagne! Most highly!" The man gestured to a mural running the length of the wall. "My cousin is from Bombay. He painted the vineyard after visiting the slopes of the Sahyandri Mountains, where beautiful grapes make beautiful champagne. I bring you a bottle, yes?"

"Yes," said Blaise.

A short while later, Angelina smiled as she took a sip of champagne and then dipped the corner of a triangular fried pastry into a sweet and sour relish. "It's the contrast," she told Blaise, when he asked what was so amusing. "Samosas—street food—and champagne. They shouldn't go together."

"Why not? I find the combination deliciously addictive."

The way Blaise spoke made Angelina think of kisses. Maybe it was because she was staring at his mouth. She dropped her gaze to the white tablecloth. "That doesn't mean they're really suited."

"Some tastes suit themselves."

The server saved her from trying to think of a reply. He delivered the Jalfrezi Chicken to their table.

Angelina took a bite of the rich, spicy dish. It wasn't overly hot to her, but Alicia had gulped lager and spooned down yoghurt and rice to "put out the fire" as she put it. Guiltily, Angelina realised that she'd ordered the dish expecting Blaise to be unable to take the heat either. She snuck a peek at him, feeling mean and petty. "Do you like it?"

Blaise regarded her steadily. After a sip of champagne, he said, "On Zanzibar, my mother's family always makes Pilau rice when we visit. It is spicy, and served with a salad of sliced onions marinated in lime and fresh chillies." He speared a chilli out of the sauce on his plate. "Yes. I like it very much."

She sipped champagne and watched him finish his meal, feeling a heat that had nothing to do with spices. "About the bonuses," she said, when Blaise set down his fork, "What are you willing to offer?"

Her breath caught when he said, "Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you."

-

* * *

- 

A/N: I almost wrote "Tell me what you want" instead of "Tell me what you need," but then I imagined Blaise and Angelina singing The Spice Girls greatest hit and before you could say_ zig-a-zig-ah_ I changed it. :D Something else I almost did was kill off Madam Hooch. It wouldn't have been against canon. Harry did say fifty people besides Fred, Tonks, and Lupin died. Is it plausible than not one teacher fell in the course of battle? I think not! Aside from resenting the h-e-double hockey sticks out of the deaths in DH, my murderous frame of mind was due to watching Sweeney Todd recently. It had a definite effect on me, because I was humming "We all deserve to die" when the idea that Hooch could retire popped into mind. I had to switch to singing "Nothing's going to harm you, not while I'm around," although that song isn't exactly reassuring. ;)

I need to thank every reader who waited for this story to update. I was busy paving the road to perdition with good intentions, but Christmas holidays gave me the excuse to take a break from For Bitter or for Worse, and the ability to stay up past three AM to finish this chapter! The readers who reviewed the last chapter and enjoyed this one (hopefully enough to review and give me what I want, what I really, really want, heh) are…**40/16, adrienne06052, alix33, Beauty Eclipsed, Calenmarwen, Carnivalgirl, Cazx, ElspethBates, Freja Lercke-Falkenborg, GraceRichie, hopecraycat, k8ebug, Kates Master, mackgirl, MBP, MollyCoddles, Moontime, Mrs. Hermione Jane Weasley, obliviate36, PhoenixDreamer55, RahNee, rossa-dolce, siriuslycrazy4snuffles, Slipknot-3113, sofia666, summersgirl2526, sunny9847, tambrathegreat, Twinsmom, werewolfinlove, and WriterMerrin. **


	3. Zanzibar

Blaise had hoped that once business was out of the way, Angelina would be open to granting him the pleasure of her company another night—on a date. When he asked to see her again, however, she deliberately misread his intent, blurted that she'd owl if her teammates had any questions, and darted into her flat. The door had literally closed in his face.

In need of advice, he Apparated.

His mother's maid answered the door to her suite. "Madam Zabini is out on the terrace, sir."

"Thank you, Safiya. Does she have a wrap?" Summer nights on Holyhead were much cooler than on Zanzibar.

"Yes, sir."

Blaise strolled to the drinks cabinet. He chose a bottle and reached for two glasses.

His mother smiled when he joined her onto the private balcony and offered a drink. "You are homesick tonight, _Mwanangu?_

Her "child" shrugged. "I had a yen for sugarcane juice with ginger and lemon." Blaise stood looking out across the dark water, wondering if Angelina stood at her window, thinking about him.

It was highly unlikely.

"What are you gazing at so intently?" his mother asked.

"The brilliant view."

His morose tone earned one of his mother's warm laughs. "Sit with me, Jabari. Share what troubles you."

He tore his gaze away from the lights glittering across the bay. "I do not deserve to be called by my Swahili name," he said, dropping onto the lounger beside hers. "I have not acted valiantly."

"Tell me why you say such a thing."

Blaise stretched out his legs. "I had the chance to act boldly and let it slip away." _I should have kissed Angelina and then asked her out. She would have said yes...or at least not have run inside so quickly!_

"You chose caution over daring. That is wise—and very Slytherin,_ Mwanangu."_

Her calm assurance made him feel like a child sulking over the loss of a desired treat. His expression turned brooding. What if Angelina never gave him a chance, kept denying the attraction between them?

Blaise startled when his mother tapped his lower lip gently with a finger. "Stop pouting." She laid her hand on his arm. "_Kinywa ni jumba la maneno._"

Mouth is the home of words—her way of saying, "tell me how I can help."

He wasn't ready to talk about his situation. "How did my father win your affection? Uncle Akeem said you were three times a widow and vowed never to remarry."

"Byron was very determined. He did not care that others called me _Mjane Eusi—_black widow."

"He was determined…."

"And it didn't hurt that all the best of dark and light met in his aspect and his eyes." His mother smiled in a way she only did when speaking of her fourth husband—the only one married for love. "He recited Lord Byron to me, but it suited him with his skin like velvet night, and the stars he put in my eyes."

She had never spoken of his father like that before. Perhaps his mother was the one who was nostalgic tonight. Blaise said, "I must quote _poetry?" _The thought was discomforting, and yet, if it worked….

"Heavens, no! The poetry came later, after I was amenable to such things."

"Thank Salazar," Blaise said dryly, hiding his relief. He could imagine murmuring a poem while intoxicated by alcohol or his lover's body, but out of bed—_sober?"_

"Quote it later, when Angelina is amenable to such things."

Blaise stiffened. "I didn't mention her name."

His mother laughed like a schoolgirl. "You did not need to."

He smiled reluctantly. "True." He thought a moment, and then asked, "How am I to show Angelina my determination?"

"Your father was cunning. He didn't approach me like a suitor. He asked about places to visit, restaurants to frequent. Occupying the most expensive suite in my hotel, he expected my personal attention and got it." His mother's tone became dreamy. "He also wore bathing trunks at every opportunity, flaunting his—ahem—fitness."

Blaise didn't want to think of his parents admiring each other's _fitness_ but her story did bring to mind the look on Angelina's face when he'd stripped down to his tee to match her casual attire.

_Perhaps I should have continued stripping. _

His lips twisted wryly. Enjoyable as it was to imagine Angelina overcome by desire, tearing off her own clothing and pinning him to the floor, he wanted there to be more than lust between them. He wanted to know her—to have her know him. He wanted a relationship, not one night of passion.

Yet how were they to build a relationship if she would not go out with him?

"I must find a way to spend time with her," he said to himself.

His mother chuckled. "And if you get the opportunity to show how fit you are—take it."

Blaise tried to keep the smile from his voice. "Are you telling me to wear swim trunks to team meetings?"

After shared laughter, his mother said with no trace of facetiousness, "No, but if you ever get the chance to take off your shirt…."

* * *

The moment she recast the security ward on the front door, Angelina headed for the kitchen. Her lips thinned. If Nia had finished off the last of the elf-made wine, she was going to short sheet her bed and put wasabi in the guacamole. She needed a drink!

There was only enough for half a glass. Angelina tossed down the blood-red wine like a medicinal potion and seriously considered chugging a six-pack of Butterbeer in the hopes that they contained traces of alcohol.

She snorted. "With my luck they wouldn't, and I'd end up pissing the night away—literally!"

Angelina shut the coolant cabinet with more force than necessary and stalked through the flat to her room. Why did Blaise Zabini have to be so attractive? His self-confidence, his sense of humour, his looks, and his voice: everything about him appealed to her.

Drawn to her window, she leaned a shoulder against the frame. On the other side of the bay, the grand hotel was visible only by enchanted candles twinkling like stars in the darkness. Unable to help herself, she pictured Blaise looking across the water, thinking of her. He wasn't wearing clothes.

_Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn! _she thought angrily. _I'm not a hormonal schoolgirl! I don't care what he looks like naked!_

Angelina yanked the curtains together and spun on her heel. She needed a distraction.

An hour later, she was lying in the tub, futilely attempting to get into the Auror mystery she had been meaning to read for weeks. It didn't help that the protagonist was tall, dark, and handsome. Angelina kept mentally altering descriptions, envisioning a man would make it hard for his partner to insist their relationship remain strictly professional.

Instead of colouring suited to typical Irish descent, she imagined chocolate brown skin. Slightly shabby robes transformed into hand tailored. The hint of brogue in the character's voice became an occasional stress of the next-to-last syllable of a word—unconsciously mimicking the pattern of Swahili.

She tossed the book aside in self-disgust.

"That bad, huh?" Nia said from the doorway. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement. "I would've knocked, but your doors were open."

The flatmates had what they jokingly called the "Open Door Policy." If a door was shut, the others respected privacy. If it was open, it was an invitation to come in and talk.

"The characterisation put me off," Angelina said, scrutinising her friend curiously. "You're home early."

"Kathy hooked up with a bloke at the Green Dragon and gave me the "three's a crowd" signal." Nia's thumb held down her pinkie as she demonstrated the three-fingered wave. "No one else looked fanciable, so I decided to go by the off-license and pick up a bottle of elf wine to share with you."

"What if I'd been out?" Angelina said.

Nia burst into laughter.

Annoyed by the implication that she was a social recluse, Angelina said, "Shut up and go uncork the wine."

"It's already poured into our glasses, breathing and becoming mellow." Nia giggled. "As I'll soon be."

Angelina no longer wanted to drown her sorrows, so to speak, and she didn't want to talk about Blaise, but she did want some company. "I'll paint your toenails if you like."

"Would you? You're an angel, Angel!"

Angelina raised water-wrinkled fingers threateningly. "I don't need a wand to hex. I'm no angel."

"_Mi scusi signorina Angelina!" _

"I'll excuse you for speaking Italian with a brogue if you take that book with you."

"_Grazie molto," _Nia said with a smile, scooping up the book. "Ooh, Black Irish?" She fluffed the ends of her auburn hair. "He'd be better-looking as a redhead."

Angelina instantly thought of Fred. In the past, she used to imagine fictional heroes with his physique. "Yes, he would," she said, filled with guilt for thinking the hero would look even scrummier as a proud black man.

"I'll go get the polish," Nia said, backing away.

Angelina stretched out an arm for her towelling robe. "You do that."

Two days later after Friday practice, she stretched up her hand to ask if management had sent word about bonuses. In the changing room earlier, her teammates had bombarded her with questions, and all she could say was that she had been in contact with Zabini and done her best to represent the players' interests. Thankfully, no one asked for specific details.

Coach Glamorgan's thick, bristly brows drew together in a frown. Gruffly, he announced that the gold would be deposited in Gringott's vaults that very day. Wild cheering didn't lighten Glamorgan's expression. He clearly thought Angelina stole his thunder or some rot, and resented her for it. She lowered her eyes so he wouldn't see them roll. The man was such an arse.

When he announced that "Mr. Zabini" requested a player be chosen to act as liaison between team and management, the nominations were unanimous: everyone wanted Angelina to do it.

She shook her head. "No. Gwenog's Captain."

"And as your Captain, I'm ordering you to accept the position." Gwenog gave her a hearty clap on the shoulder. "Keep scoring for the team!"

"_Score! Score! Score!" _the others chanted, some laughingly, some with the same fervency heard from their fans.

A bizarre image popped into Angelina's head. She and Blaise, together on the pitch, his body pressing hers into the ground, his mouth over hers, kissing passionately. In a circle around them, the team stood clapping in rhythm.

_Score, Score, Score!_

Nia saw Angelina's blush and said, "We're just teasing, mate. You'll be brilliant."

"Could you start now?" Jo asked. The petite Seeker smiled apologetically. "I know it's only been a couple of days since the pipes burst, but the changing rooms smell mouldy and I have allergies."

"As soon as I've changed," Angelina said, seizing the excuse to retreat from her teammates—and the fluttering in her middle caused by the thought of lying with Blaise on soft, green grass.

The butterflies in her stomach resumed their swooping as she exited the lift on the management floor. In addition to a conference room, there were several offices, but the staff had already left. No one was around to ask where she could find Blaise. On a hunch, Angelina made for the right corner office. The door was open, so she walked inside.

Sleek, contemporary furniture made of dark wood filled an office formerly crammed with English oak. Blaise looked completely at home, as though he'd been management for ages, instead of days.

He caught sight of her and smiled. "Good afternoon." He nodded toward the wall of glass behind him and the pitch beyond. "The team had an excellent practice."

"Thanks." The knowledge that he'd been watching unsettled her: a ridiculous feeling. Blaise had every right to observe practice. He was an owner, after all, the one in charge of day-to-day management.

Reminding herself of those facts didn't stop a wash of heat from stealing across her cheeks. The glint of admiration in his gaze told Angelina _she _had looked good today.

"I was chosen as team liaison," she said, driven to establish that she hadn't come there for social reasons.

His lips curved. "Due to your skilful negotiation of the bonuses, no doubt."

Blaise's tone wasn't suggestive, yet she couldn't help but remember the tension that arced between them as they faced each other across a dinner table.

_Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you._

Everything he offered was so tempting; Angelina had virtually run into her flat to escape the urge to take what Blaise offered. It had been a long time since her last relationship, and she was lonely, but it was too soon after Fred's death. It didn't matter that he hadn't loved her. She had loved him.

Angelina brought her focus back to the present. "I hope I don't disappoint them on my first day."

He waved her toward a chair. "There's an issue? Tell me about it."

"The changing rooms already smell of mould, and Jo's allergic."

Blaise didn't resume his seat. "Let's go," he said, striding to the door. She jumped to her feet, surprised. Why would he check on the matter himself?

He waited for her to precede him. "I believe in hands-on management," he said as she passed.

Angelina bit her lip. Was her face that easy to read?

Blaise lifted an eyebrow. "I hope that doesn't disappoint you."

"Of course not," she said sharply. "I've waited for an owner to take an interest in something other than maximising profit ever since I got here."

Blaise easily kept pace as she marched down the corridor. "I'm interested in much more than profit," he murmured, following her into the lift.

Angelina didn't answer. She was too busy praying that the old lift wouldn't stall between floors. If she was forced to remain in close proximity with Blaise, she didn't trust herself not to find out if he was as gorgeous without clothes as she'd imagined. Worse, she might discover he was a man she wanted to spend time with out of bed.

She was _not _disappointed that the lift functioned perfectly. She was relieved. Completely. "You can't smell the odour from here," she said, leading the way to the changing rooms. "But when you get inside…."

Blaise coughed upon breathing the musty air. "You dressed out in this stench?"

"None of us had a choice—"

"You have a choice now," he said firmly. "Come to me."

She was _not _going to read anything more into his words than a desire to help the team. "I did."

Blaise took out his wand. "The cleaning service either did not show or cast weak spells. I will rectify the situation."

"You know cleaning charms?"

A boyish smile crossed his face. "Zanzibar is a tropical island. Spells are employed to control humidity and eliminate mould—especially in hotels."

Which his mother owned…. She watched him weave an intricate pattern in the air and asked to fill the silence, "My wand is Black Walnut. What's yours made of?"

"Black Palm—known for creating positive changes and creating opportunities."

Romantic opportunities? She laughed self-consciously. "My nose appreciates the change you made to the air quality."

Blaise glanced at his watch. "If you have time to accompany me to a manufacturer, I would appreciate your input on the selection of lockers and seating for the changing room refurbishment."

"I've made dinner plans," she said, to forestall him asking her out. In truth, she was going to order take-away and read a book.

"As have I," he said. "Our business should be concluded in a couple of hours, at most."

Unaccountably, hearing that he had plans made her tetchy. She wondered if he had a date—not that she cared. "Fine," she said briskly. "Is the manufacturer local, or will we Floo?"

"Floo. The company's in Caerphilly, Mid Glamorgan."

South Wales: she'd never been there before. "I heard there's a castle with a tower that leans more than the one in Pisa."

Blaise said, "If you're interested, after business concludes we could judge for ourselves before we return."

She shrugged as if she didn't care either way. "If there's time."

They made time to tour the castle, agreeing that the "walls within walls" defence system was impressive, although the leaning tower was the highlight of their visit. Blaise seemed amused by her insistence on purchasing a Muggle postcard. "The tower leans, not wobbles," she said defensively. "The photograph doesn't need to move!"

He stared at the postcard thoughtfully. "True."

Her jaw dropped when he purchased one—after borrowing some of her Muggle money to pay for it.

Later that night, Angelina's flatmates were equally astounded when she told them the story, but for a different reason.

"You're dating our scrummy owner?" Nia said, looking delighted.

Kathy, a simpler soul, said confusedly, "You picked out furniture? Does that mean the relationship's serious?"

"Changing room furniture, loony, not household." Nia turned to Angelina. "Was it lust at first sight? Tell all."

"We aren't dating. We toured a castle after a business meeting I attended in my capacity as team liaison. Nothing more."

"Are you sure?" Kathy asked. "Your voice was all breathy-like when you talked about him and—"

"Shhh! Stop teasing her before she kicks us out of the flat and we have to sleep on the street." Nia gave Kathy a meaningful look. "Angelina's acting as liaison and that's _all_, so why don't you be a mate and heat up some of our leftover chicken curry. Poor thing's prolly starving."

"No," Angelina said quickly. "Don't bother. The pub that served as a Floo station in Caerphilly had this buttery white cheese that's famous, apparently, so we shared a cheese-board. It had grapes, apples, tomatoes and a baguette. I'm still full."

"What kind of wine goes with that?" Nia asked.

"Chardonnay."

Angelina wished she'd lied and said they'd drunk water when Kathy whispered audibly to Nia, "They had wine. That wasn't a date?"

"No. Come help me do the clearing up and I'll explain why," Nia said, steering Kathy toward the kitchen.

Whatever Nia said must have been convincing, because in the days that followed, neither Kathy nor any of the Harpies questioned whether Angelina's relationship with Blaise was other than professional.

As the weeks passed, she continued to act as a liaison, and was pleased that Blaise lived up to the promise of his Black Palm wand, effecting positive changes. Representing the team's interest, Angelina accompanied Blaise to shops and manufacturers to choose new brooms, new practice equipment, and new, stylishly tailored, team robes.

If they happened to share a drink, a meal, or visit some local place of interest on their business trips, Angelina refused to feel guilty about it. It didn't matter to her that he was strikingly handsome, intelligent, well read, with a wicked sense of humour and a strong loyalty to family. Blaise might be extremely fanciable, but she was willing to overlook it for the good of the club.

­

* * *

By the beginning of July, when the team officially entered the off-season, Blaise had taken more cold showers and resisted more temptation than some Slytherins experienced in a lifetime. He had restrained himself from approaching Angelina as a suitor, creating the liaison position to enable them to spend time together.

He had put that time to good use, sharing his thoughts and interests and listening when she shared hers. He planned their outings with care, walked Angelina to her door and said goodnight with a smile instead of a kiss. He even purchased Muggle postcards—eerie, frozen images—to show he was not prejudiced. He had been attentive and patient. What more could he do?

Angelina seemed content to exchange lingering looks and banter that edged on flirtation, but that wasn't enough for Blaise. He needed more. It was time to act.

He sent an owl, and then waited. At the appointed time, he Apparated to the street outside Angelina's flat.

She was sitting on the building steps, wearing a red shirt that reminded him of flame tree blossoms. The flowers would look lovely in her hair.

When he didn't speak, Angelina said, "You could have come up."

"I wanted privacy." He stepped forward.

Angelina stared blankly at the object he'd given her. "You needed privacy to give me a coconut?"

"It's a Portkey," he said. "I'm leaving for Zanzibar, and I want you to accompany me."

Her eyes were dark with emotion. "I'm not ready."

"I ask only that you be my guest at our hotel, and allow me to show you the island—my home."

She stood to face him. "That isn't all you want."

"No, but I have waited longer than you know, and I will wait as long as you need." He smiled a little. "_Kwa heri ya kuonana. _See you soon."

* * *

Zanzibar Island was lush and green, fragrant with the aroma of spices and the perfume of tropical flowers. The Indian Ocean embraced the white sand beaches, beckoning those on land to sail clear turquoise waters. With Angelina by his side, Blaise would have considered it paradise. Without her, the beauty was a mocking reminder of everything he wanted but didn't have.

On the third morning of their holiday, his mother looked up from the Tanzanian paper she was reading and said, "Sayyid is taking the dhow out today. Go fishing and stop brooding, _Mwanangu_. Angelina will come."

He was beginning to doubt it, but since he was bored, he obeyed his mother.

His young cousin jumped out of the wooden boat and splashed through the water to meet him. "_Subalkheri,_ Blaise!"

Blaise ruffled the boy's soft black hair. "Good morning, Kami. _U hali gani? _How are you?"

"_Sijambo, _I am well."

From the dhow, Sayyid called, "_Haya!"_

"You heard your father, let's go," Blaise said.

The boy's eyes lit up. "Toss me like a fish at the market?"

Blaise grinned and picked his small cousin up by the waist and out of the water. The boy hollered joyfully as he hurtled through the air. When he splashed down near the dhow, Kami came up laughing.

An hour later, the boy sidled up to Blaise as he lounged on a bench, soaking up the sun. "I brought a book of stories, cousin. Will you read one to me?"

"You always bring a book of stories." Blaise turned his head toward the fishing poles.

"The fish are not hungry today," Sayyid said dryly, his face shaded by the triangular sail.

"Words are magic," Kami said earnestly. "If you read a story, the fish will come and you will catch one!"

Blaise reached for the book. "And if one doesn't, I throw you to the fishes."

Kami beamed. "Yes, please, and levitate me this time, so I float in the air."

Chuckling, Blaise leafed through the pages until he found a short story with an interesting title. _Anansi Goes Fishing. _As he read about the spider who planned to trick his friend turtle into catching a fish for him and ended up doing all the work and going hungry, he began to question: was he like Anansi? Had he tried to trick Angelina into a relationship only to end up hungry?

When hours passed without a nibble on any of the lines, they finally sailed back to shore. Remembering his playful threat, Blaise told Kami, "Your story magic didn't work, so you must be thrown to the fishes."

The boy's attention had wandered to the beach. He pointed. "Maybe you caught a mermaid and she washed onto shore!"

Blaise saw the woman waiting on the sand and felt like shouting for joy. Instead, he tore off his shirt and dove into the water.

As he waded through the shallows toward Angelina, he called out, "My young cousin thinks you're a mermaid."

She looked down at her floral sarong. "Because of the blue-green colours? He has a vivid imagination."

"So do I," said Blaise. "I've imagined you here so many times; I can't help but wonder if this is real or another fantasy." He reached out to touch her shiny black hair. "I never dreamt it would be so long out of braids."

"I used a straightening spell."

He rubbed the silky strand between his fingers. "It's beautiful."

"It's different," she said, "from what I was used to—what I've always been comfortable with." Her eyes searched his. "But I'm getting used to it, and I really, _really _like it."

Blaise took her hand and slowly lifted it to his lips. "I really like you, too." Her skin was smooth and firm, and one day soon, he would kiss every millimetre of it. "I'm glad you're here. _Karibu_."

Her smile was almost shy. "Doesn't that mean 'welcome'?"

"Yes." He continued to hold her hand as they strolled down the beach, deciding that, for now, he would keep to himself the literal—and for Blaise, intensely personal—meaning of the word.

_Come closer._

* * *

A/N: Finis! Finally! Huzzah! **Special Thanks **to everyone who waited for this chapter and kindly asked about its progress from time to time. ;) I really enjoyed getting the couple to Zanzibar and hope readers did too. If I hadn't already quoted Byron and planned quoting a Swahili proverb, I would've had Dalila use Elizabeth Bennet's statement on poetry's effect on romance. _But if it is only a vague inclination I'm convinced one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead_. LOL. For My Fair Lady fans who wondered if Angelina's multiple 'damns' were inspired by Henry Higgins, yes, they were!

In looking up the magical properties of wood, I found that Black Walnut "couples reason with intuition to help a person grow spiritually and heal themselves from within." I thought that suited Angelina. :) There's a Muggle locker manufacturer in Caerphilly, which is why I based the wizard one there. (Yes, I Google every random idea that floats through my brain. :P) I also reuse characters when I can, like Sayyid and Kami from **Gone Fishing**. The African folk tale is one of many about Anansi the Spider.

**For Bitter or for Worse **readers might wonder if a chapter will post Friday. It will, pinkie promise, even if posts late Friday afternoon instead of bright and early in the morning, because I might have to work on it until the last minute. :D

The readers who reviewed the last chapter and helped motivate me to finish the story were...**40/16, alix33, Alone All Along, Calenmarwen, Carnivalgirl, Cazx, Chrys-Moony-Marauder, Dannie7, Dark Rose of Heaven, ElspethBates, Freja Lercke-Falkenborg, LostHeart4, GraceRichie, Itsa Mia, Jo Claire, MollyCoddles, Moontime, Mrs. Hermione Jane Weasley, Newbie GK, obliviate36, PhoenixDreamer55, potteronpotluvhim, QueenBee11, RahNee, Slipknot-3113, sofia666, SOphia.weasley, summersgirl2526, tambrathegreat, and xoxphoenix . **


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